


The Samulet of Amarkand

by angelsandbrowncoats



Category: Bartimaeus - Jonathan Stroud, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, I don't know if I'll finish this, Multi, characters are supernatural, if that makes any sense, just as a warning, setting is bartimaeus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 04:19:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2608247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsandbrowncoats/pseuds/angelsandbrowncoats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael is an apprentice wizard who risks his own life for revenge on Dick Roman. He summons the powerful-but-snarky djinn Lucifer, and things get a bit... complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He Knew It

**Author's Note:**

> I do not ship Nathaniel and Bartimaeus. I just thought these two would do nicely. Actually I don't know what I was thinking. Eh, it's pretty good.

Michael knew he shouldn’t be doing this. He knew it as well as he knew his numbers and his Latin and even Zachariah’s house rules. In fact, it  was one of Zachariah’s rules. And he was about to break it. The idea made him practically tremble in fear, but he countered it with the cold, hard logic that Zachariah, for all his probably-good-intentions, was a moron. He wouldn’t think Michael ready for  _ years _ and he couldn’t wait that long. He knew it sounded childish, and he knew that didn’t help his case, but revenge was so close he could taste it and anyone who thought he was letting this opportunity escape was a damned fool. 

It didn’t matter how perfect the chalk lines were, because he  _ knew _ it was above his skill level. There was no way he was capable of this, no way at all. But he was going to do it anyway.

An imp might be easier, but it was beneath him and he knew it. Great. He was not only going to do something way over his head, he was going to be snobbish about it, he thought: how typically me. 

Rarely was he this caustic, but what he was about to do was tantamount to signing away his life voluntarily, so he figured it was appropriate.

And all this because that man- _ Dick Roman _ -had dared insult him at some party he hardly remembered so many years ago. 

Of course, it really wasn’t  _ that _ long. He was only seventeen, after all. 

But regardless of the time, he had vowed that one day Roman would pay and that time was fast approaching.

Carefully setting down the last candle, he took a deep breath, and began. He had to be careful not to step beyond the protective lines, supposing he successfully summoned this thing, because it would without a doubt try to kill him. 

Some days he questioned why noble and honorable people such as the magicians dealt with such  _ unsavory _ creatures, but he knew it was the price they had to pay to do the right thing. After all, the ends justify the means, right?

Michael had never summoned anything before. He’d practiced without doing it properly, because he knew that one misspoken word would result in his instant yet painful demise. So here he was-apprentice, novice, amateur-call him what you will, about to summon an excessively powerful demon known for causing utter chaos and destruction. A demon so wild it was rumored he drove magicians mad. A demon who had not been summoned for a very long time, meaning that 1) he’d had a long time to gain power, and 2) he’d grown accustomed to the barbaric ways of demons again, over the civilization brought by magicians. 

One time he’d captured a wild imp that had been stealing from his master’s garden, and he’d taken the opportunity to glean a little knowledge. And glean he did. He learned, for instance, that the mere name ‘Lucifer’ sent an imp into a worthless mass of incomprehensible terror. 

And that still did not stop him. He knew his judgement might be clouded by vengeance, but he was beyond the point of caring. Besides, maybe Lucifer would enjoy the chance to cause a magician pain, even it wasn’t the one currently enslaving him. Michael had always had an issue with the term ‘enslaving’-it didn’t seem as noble and honorable as magicians were supposed to be-but he supposed they  were demons. 

Slowly and cautiously, he recited the ritual, refusing to be shaken as flames and darkness and pure, raw, evil  _ power _ formed inside the other circle. 

Then he was done.

There was a pause, the power just sitting there, not doing anything, and Michael watched it closely. After a silence just long enough to be awkward, a deep, resonating voice spoke, “Who art thou whom doth disturb my slumber?”

Michael had to roll his eyes, “That was a failure on so many levels. Show yourself.”

The darkness and flames seemed to turn towards him, and the voice spoke again, “But I am here before your eyes, oh observant one.”

Was the demon  _ mocking him?! _

“How about you become something with a face?” Michael suggested.

The fiery darkness somehow shrugged before transforming into a monstrous beast. This was a demon of legend: shining black armor with worn patches, blood spattered, gigantic horns that could probably run an elephant through. 

Michael sighed, then commanded, “Change into a recognizable living being.”

“If you insist,” he roared, before shrinking down into something that was unsettlingly large for its shape-a centipede the size of the apprentice’s bed. 

“Try something less creepy,” he deadpanned, losing interest with this game quickly. The centipede became a sturgeon suspended in water. Michael closed his eyes in frustration at the impertinent *glub*glub* it emitted despite the fact that he knew full well that Lucifer could speak any language he knew in any form.

What surprised him was the way the voice sounded next, “Perhaps you’d find this more acceptable?”

Opening his eyes, he was shocked to find himself staring into the face of a boy roughly his own age. 


	2. Names and Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael and Lucifer do a little civilized talking.

A boy, with semi-long brown hair, golden eyes, and a short stature was sitting cross-legged in the circle across from him. Michael couldn’t help it: he openly stared. Demons were creatures of disgust or horror, never something as normal as a boy. In fact, the only time they appeared normal at all was when they were spying for their master, and had to be a bird or something.

He eyed the demon warily, not trusting this new act for a moment. The boy-no, demon-watched him back with an infuriatingly happy and innocent smile.

“And who are you supposed to be?”

“You didn’t care about Silverdart’s name, but when it’s one of your own kind, suddenly they’re a _who_? Racist.”

“Silverdart?” Michael cursed himself silently for letting Lucifer catch him off guard.

“The sturgeon.”

“Who would name a sturgeon after a _dart_?” he was genuinely mildly outraged.

Lucifer shrugged, “Not my problem. I probably ate whoever it was anyway.”

“Barbaric.”

“Hypocritical.”

“Lying scum.”

“I agree, you’re all those things and more!” the demon sang cheerily.

“Are you trying to avoid my question?” Michael asked suddenly, having had quite enough of this demon’s sass. He was starting to understand all those strange warnings in the plethora of texts and scrolls he had read while researching Lucifer.

“His name was Gabriel and that’s all you ever need to know,” he replied shortly. The apprentice was taken aback. That did not sound like textbook Lucifer at all. And it didn’t really match his previous tone. Well, all it did was prove that Lucifer would be wrong about his last statement. Once he was done with this, Gabriel would be next on his research list.

“Say, since I’m being polite and all, maybe you could tell me your name and return the favor? I mean, after all, magicians _are_ civilized, right?”

Michael tensed. He knew the price for letting a demon-or anyone for that matter-know his real name. After a moment, he responded equally shortly, although his statement was more of a challenge, with his pre-chosen name, “Raphael.”

Lucifer-no, there was no way… no, he really was. Lucifer _giggled_.

Maybe he was insane.

When he finally calmed down a few minutes later, Michael decided the conversation had gone far enough and began on the ritual that ensured Lucifer would do his will and not be able to harm him or his plans. A demon’s (or djinn’s in this case, considering how high of a level Lucifer had) reliance on his essence had a major downside. That was how the magicians had enslaved them so easily.

“Perhaps I should detail my plans to you, so you know exactly what your role will be,” Michael mused.

“Oh do tell,” the demon drawled, “I’m ever so interested in the petty concerns of you mortal types, you know.”

“Do you think I give two shits about what interests you? Here’s the deal. Another magician, one named Dick Roman, well let’s say I have a personal grudge against him. Pissing him off is endgame, understood? He just so happens to have a prized magical artifact- an object known as the Samulet.

I want you to steal it.”


End file.
